Holding Hands and Stealing Glances
by nicalyse
Summary: But you see, it's summer. Her last summer before college, in fact, and she's away from home. This is the perfect opportunity for a summer fling, and she's willing to explore that possibility with Puck. AU.
1. Chapter 1

This summer job thing? It's turning out to be the best idea Puck ever had.

It started back in like, February, when Santana dragged his ass with her to the CPR class she was taking. Actually, she tricked him, lured him in with promises of _finally_ letting him get at her in return for giving her someone to practice mouth-to-mouth on. Except then they got there, and they were all practicing on these dummy torsos (no arms, no legs), and she was giving him shit for thinking that she'd get down with a dude.

Whatever. You can't blame a guy for trying when the chick's that hot.

Then she was babbling a bunch of shit about getting her lifeguard certification because her dad was hiring at country club for the summer, and wouldn't it be great if they were lifeguards together? They could check out girls and get tans, and it would be a public service, really, spending all that time in bathing suits where everyone could see.

Fine. If he's being honest, the whole thing was Santana's idea, and she dragged him into it. It's cool though, 'cause they're bros, and she was totally right.

He decides this the day he starts teaching swimming lessons.

Puck was actually kind of pissed off about this swimming lessons stuff when he heard (Santana conveniently left it out when she was telling him about the job), especially when they gave the advanced group to Santana and Matt and Puck got stuck teaching the intermediate kids by himself. He's still a little surly about it the first morning, standing in the open-air office with the other lifeguards, listening to the receptionist check in the kids as they arrive, his back to the little window as he talks with Matt.

"Jesus Christ," Santana mumbles, nodding her head subtly towards the window when Puck looks at her.

He doesn't even bother to pretend that he isn't looking when he turns around and sees what (who) Santana's talking about.

She's got dark, wavy hair, which he notices just because the ends of it are grazing the top of her tits where her dress is cut low. He can tell it isn't meant to be sexy, this pink cotton dress with the little white sweater over it covering fuck all, but it totally is. Her face, when he looks, is good too, dark eyes and full lips and high cheekbones.

"Dibs," Santana says lowly behind him. He turns to smirk at her over his shoulder.

"Fifty says she's straight."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Fuck off." She pulls her tee shirt over her head, tosses it at his face, and walks out of the office.

The girl's gone when he turns back to the window, which sucks, but she just signed some kid in, so she'll be back, right?

He thinks that God must totally love him when he dismisses his group from their lesson and he watches Stevie and Stacy Evans run over to where the brunette with the legs (which are fucking hot, and this is totally how he's thinking of her) is sitting on a lounge chair under a blue-striped umbrella reading some book.

He doesn't bother to grab a towel when he lifts himself out of the waist-deep water and walks across the concrete to where they're standing. He reaches out to give Stacy's dripping braid a gentle tug. "Not bad out there, squirt."

Stacy wrinkles her nose as she looks up at him. "I'm a good swimmer."

It's dumb how much he likes this little girl, but he totally does. Sam's mom swears she has a crush on Puck, which he thinks is kind of adorable and awesome. "You'll be awesome when I'm done with you." He offers the brunette a smile, making sure that he looks at her eyes instead of her tits. "Hey. I'm Puck."

Her eyebrows go up just a tiny bit. "Rachel."

He watches Stevie struggle to pull his tee shirt over his head. "How'd you get wrapped up with these two?"

"My dad went to school with Mrs. Evans," she explains, helping Stevie get his head through the neck of his shirt. "Our families have been friends for years. I'm staying with them for the summer."

If Sam knew about this Rachel chick coming for the summer and didn't tell Puck, he's going to kick the dude's ass when he gets back from helping with disaster relief in Chile or wherever the hell. "That's awesome. Sam and I just graduated together, but he didn't mention anything about someone coming to stay."

"It was sort of last-minute. I'm not sure he knows."

"He'd have told me about you," he says lowly. He likes the way her cheeks turn just a little pink.

"Can we have popsicles after lunch?" Stacy interrupts.

Rachel smiles at the little girl, picks up her bag and hitches it up over her shoulder. "Sure, kiddo. That's my cue," she tells Puck, pushing a hand through her hair. "It was nice to meet you."

"Yeah." Fuck, she's hot. He wants to keep talking to her. "I'll see you around?"

She nods distractedly, handing Stevie the towel he's already abandoned on a lounge chair. "Sure." She pauses then, looks up at Puck, and smiles. "I'm sure we'll run into one another."

He's watching her walk away (shameless) when Santana comes to stand beside him. "Get shot down?"

He scoffs. "Just getting started, baby."

* * *

><p>She's been to visit the Evans' home before for visits, with her fathers, and she always thought their town was nice enough. By the end of her first week here, she think this is the sort of place a girl could fall in love with if she let herself. It's a tourist town on a lake big enough for fishing and water sports and all sorts of outdoor things she isn't terribly interested in. There are tourist attractions and restaurants and quaint little shops; everything you could want, really, from a rural town. She knows there are "local" things though, like the restaurant where they had an amazing dinner a few nights ago. She wishes Sam wasn't away for the summer, because he wouldn't hesitate to show her these places.<p>

Of course, if Sam wasn't away for the summer, she might not be here. She's being paid (a small amount, but still) to care for Stevie and Stacy while their parents are at work, something Sam would have done if he hadn't been accepted into this relief program. She'd overheard her dad on the phone with Regina talking about finding a nanny, and she'd jumped at the chance to get the hell out of Lima for the summer. She has just three months till she goes to New York, and she's thrilled not to be spending them at home after the way the last couple of months of school went.

It's an excellent arrangement. She's really only responsible for the kids when Jeff and Regina are at work during the day, so she has evenings and weekends largely to herself. She loves this family, and she's never had siblings or a mother, so it's almost like spending the summer with the family she always wanted to be a part of. And she's getting paid to do it.

Then, of course, there's the lifeguard at the country club who teaches the kids' swimming lessons. Puck.

He's attractive. Almost too attractive with his tan and his muscles and his smirk that she's already seen shift into a very charming smile. He also has his hair cut into a ridiculous mohawk and a ring through his left nipple that she's overheard some of the kids asking about. (She wishes she'd heard the answer just because she'd like to know how one explains something like that to small children.) Somehow, that doesn't detract from the rest of it, though it really should. He's also the sort of man who _knows_ just how attractive he is, which Rachel generally finds off-putting.

But you see, it's summer. Her last summer before college, in fact, and she's away from home. This is the perfect opportunity for a summer fling, and she's willing to explore that possibility with Puck, even if he is unfairly handsome. Maybe because of that, if she's being honest.

She watches him during Friday morning's swimming lesson, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses as she peeks over the top of the novel she's pretending to read. There are worse ways to spend a morning than enjoying the sunlight and the view of a wet, attractive man interacting adorably with children.

Puck follows the kids to where Rachel's sitting after he ends the lesson, just like he has every time she's been here. (Three times. It definitely counts.) He waits until Stacy finishes telling Rachel about her backstroke to say anything. "You wanna do something tonight?"

Straight to the point, this one. She pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head and blinks at him slowly. "Do you really think I'm that easy, Puck?"

He doesn't say anything, but there's a grin on his face when he watches her pick up her bag and lead the kids towards the gate.

Just because she thinks he might be fun for a summer fling doesn't mean that she's going to just _give_ it to him. He's going to have to work for it.

* * *

><p>Puck's been emailing Sam all week, shamelessly fishing for information about Rachel. Dude's basically worthless, just tells Puck to leave her alone because she's like family, threatens to rearrange his face if he fucks with her, blah blah blah. That's fine because one, he's not worried about Sam's empty threats, and two, he doesn't know how he would even use any information Sam fed him. He's only seen her at the pool when she brings the Evans kids for swimming lessons, which means he's talked to her for a total of twenty minutes in ever.<p>

But that shit she said this morning? Totally fucking hot. Also, totally an invitation to go after her. And that's cool. There's a fine line between girls who are teases and girls who are worth working for, and he's willing to put in a little effort to find out which sort Rachel is. He's just gotta figure out what the hell to do.

They clear the pool every hour during afternoons for "pool checks," which are really just excuses for the lifeguards to get down off their stands and take a break. A lot of local kids end up using this pool so they don't have to worry about strangers on the beach at the lake, and because the lake doesn't have lifeguards at all. Here there's security and shit, so they're plenty crowded with kids whose parents actually care about what they're doing. These little three minute breaks are the only thing that keeps him from pelting kids with Skittles while he's sitting up on his stand.

He's standing with Santana, bugging her for an idea of how to get shit started with Rachel. It's exactly what he's been doing on every one of their breaks, including the lunch they took together between the end of lessons and when the pool opened for the day. Everything she suggests is stupid, and he's in the middle of telling her that when she interrupts.

"You're fucking annoying," she tells him seriously. He can't see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but he knows that tone. She's glaring at him. "Just go over there and ask her to go somewhere. Put her on the spot in front of Sam's parents."

That's actually kind of an awesome idea, especially since Regina loves him. "You're the best, baby," he says, chucking Santana under the chin, ignoring the way she raises her eyebrows, before turning to walk back around the pool to his own stand.

He waits until after dinner to drive over to the Evans' house, a big brick place on the edge of town with a yard full of flowers that Regina's sort of crazy about. (He and Sam got into major shit one spring for digging up a giant bed of tulips when Sam read about a family surviving on tulip bulbs in some post-apocalyptic novel. Tulip bulbs taste like shit, for the record.) Puck's spent a lot of time here over the years, since he and Sam met in Mrs. Hoover's second-grade class and decided they were best friends. There's a giant TV in the media room in the basement, and out back there's about an acre of woods with a creek running through it and a clubhouse thing Jeff helped them build when they were ten that Stevie's taken as his own now that Sam and Puck have outgrown it. He knows how to sneak into - and out of - this house, and he's as comfortable hanging out here as he is at his own place.

It's kind of weird to be coming here, knowing that he isn't going to see Sam at all, even more so when when he pulls in and sees Sam's car parked under the oak tree next to the driveway just like always.

Whatever. He's here for Rachel. He's totally tricking her into it, but he's taking her out tonight even if she doesn't know it yet.

He knocks, then walks in without waiting for an answer, just like always. "Hello?" he calls out.

"Puck?"

He follows the sound of Regina's voice down the hall to the kitchen and finds her sitting at the kitchen table with Rachel. He can see Stacy and Stevie running around in the backyard through the French doors and figures that's why they're sitting there, keeping an eye on the kids or whatever. Regina's smiling like always, and Rachel's looking at him like there's a third arm growing out of the middle of his forehead. He digs it, actually.

"Stevie and Stacy haven't stopped talking about you all week," Regina says after she's invited Puck to join them and he's sitting beside Rachel at the table. "I didn't know you were teaching swimming lessons."

"Neither did I," he answers honestly. "I actually kind of like it though."

He watches Rachel out of the corner of his eye while Regina makes small talk with both of them, trying to read the expression on her face, but he can't tell what she's thinking at all.

"So what brings you over here, Puck?" Regina finally asks. He doesn't miss the way she glances at Rachel.

"I thought that maybe Rachel could use someone to show her around since Sam's gone," he answers simply, getting straight to the point. It's not a complete lie. It's not like Regina needs to know that banging this girl is his endgame. "If she's free."

Regina smiles. "That's so nice. I think it'd be good for you to get out of the house," she says to Rachel, pushing her chair back from the table. "You'll be here all summer, so it can't hurt to know your way around, make some friends."

"Of course," Rachel agrees with a smile. "But you certainly don't have to escort me, Puck."

He smirks. There's a tiny bit of sarcasm in her voice. "Nah, I want to."

"If you're sure." She looks amused, and she's totally onto him now, but he really doesn't care. He thinks she probably wants him, if he's been reading her right all week, and especially this morning, but she doesn't want to come off as desperate. He can appreciate the ego thing, and this saves hers. Plus, she's hot, and getting his dick wet is the goal. Unless she's a total fucking bitch - which he doesn't think she is - they'll at least manage to have some fun together.

"Great!" Regina says, standing and pushing her chair in. "Just give me a call if you're not going to sleep here." Regina must see the surprise on Puck's face (Sam's curfew was always crazy strict), because she says, "Rachel's an adult, and so are you. I expect you both to remember that and act like it." There's a stern look on her face, one he's seen a lot. Seriously, Regina's like his second mom.

"Got it."

"Have fun." She steps out the back door, shouting something across the lawn at the kids, leaving Puck and Rachel sitting alone together in the kitchen.

"This was unexpected," Rachel says, turning a little to face him with a little smile on her lips.

He grins. "You like surprises?"

"Not generally, no," she laughs. Well, fuck. "This is fine though, I suppose. What did you have in mind?"

He stands up, says, "C'mon," instead of answering her question, but she just sits there.

"Puck, I need to know if I'm dressed appropriately before we go anywhere."

He looks down at her, sitting at the kitchen table in an army green mini skirt and a plain gray tee shirt with a v-neck. Basically, she's all legs and just the tiniest hint at cleavage: She looks hot. "You look fine," he tells her, grabbing her wrist and tugging until she stands up. "Let's go."

"Fine. Let me go grab my bag."

"Nope." He's shaking his head. "You don't need a bag. Phone and keys, that's it."

She's looking at him like he's stupid. "Seriously, Puck? Where are we going?"

He rolls his eyes. "Calm your tits." Her mouth drops open, which is pretty funny, actually. "We're just going to hang at Santana's house." He walks away then, leaves her standing in the kitchen, though it only takes her a second to start following him.

"You're taking me to a house party?" She doesn't sound impressed.

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>"I thought this was a hotel."<p>

Puck grins, not even bothering to look over at her. "Nope."

"This is a house?"

"Santana's," he answers. "The lifeguard at the club, the Latina. Her house."

Rachel just shake her head, looking up at the house in front of her while Puck's Jeep practically creeps up the driveway, almost like he's giving her a chance to really take it all in, though she's probably making that up. It's enormous, three stories of pale brick and columns and a terrace and beautiful, obviously professional landscaping. Puck follows the driveway along the side of the house, revealing a handful of cars that are hidden from sight of the road, a road that apparently leads to this house and the country club and nothing else.

"What does her family do?" Rachel asks quietly when Puck turns off the car. The top is off, so she can't be sure who could be around listening, and she doesn't want to come off as rude for asking.

"Her dad owns, like, everything. The marina, the country club, a couple of restaurants and bars." He shrugs. "He isn't around a lot, but he doesn't give a fuck what we all do out here, so that's cool."

She doesn't say anything as he leads her towards the house, just tugs her fingers through her windblown hair and admires the urns filled with yellow and pink petunias that line the patio.

Admittedly, she was impressed when he walked into the kitchen at the Evans'. She'd thought that telling him she wasn't easy this morning at the pool would be the end of things. Maybe he'd still flirt with her when she brought the kids for their swimming lessons, but he wouldn't try to get her alone again. Clearly, she was wrong.

This house is more than impressive. It's gorgeous on the outside, and when he leads her through a set of french doors and into a sun room filled with houseplants, and on through to a kitchen that's all stainless steel and marble, she decides that it's spectacular.

She's not quite convinced that bringing her to a house party is the best move on his part, even in this house. She's reserving judgment though, until she sees how he behaves tonight.

By midnight, she's made up her mind.

As soon as it got dark, two-thirds of the not-very-many people who were at the party left to go skinny dipping at someplace called "the point," and Rachel has seen at least three couples disappear up the stairs and behind closed doors. It's mostly quiet, just music drifting through the speakers on the obviously expensive sound system and the occasional shout or giggle from the next room where a handful of people are watching a scary movie. She's sipping a screwdriver made with Belvedere and orange juice Santana assured her is fresh-squeezed, sitting at a table playing rummy, of all the card games in the world, with three people she barely knows.

It's been ages since she's had this much fun, if she's being honest with herself, and it's just a little strange.

"What about you, Rachel?" Artie asks, laying some cards on the table in front of him. He's just finished talking about how he'd gotten his housing information back from Duke this morning.

"I'll be in New York City," she answers, taking a sip of her drink. She mixed it herself - has been all night - so it's very weak, and she's barely even tipsy. Call her over cautious, but she isn't interested in being drunk with a bunch of strangers in a town she barely knows.

"NYU?" Santana asks.

Rachel draws a card from the deck in front of her, lays down a trio of nines. "Juilliard, actually." She keeps her eyes on her cards, studiously ignoring the looks she's getting from around the table.

She's spent years - her whole life, really - being the girl who sings. She loves it, but she'd thought that maybe, just this summer, she could just be _Rachel_. But she doesn't want to lie, and the question itself is innocent enough. Besides, she already knew the conversation was heading this way; Santana brought it up, talking about Brown and how she couldn't wait to get away from this '_narrow-minded shithole,_' and Puck mentioned the state university a couple of hours away from here he'll be attending.

Santana narrows her eyes a bit as she looks at Rachel. "Are you some, like, crazy piano prodigy?"

Rachel can't help smiling. She's decided that she likes Santana, not in spite of her crassness and apparent lack of inhibition, but because of them. It's rare to find that in a girl her age, and she likes it. "I sing," she answers simply, even though her usual response to such a question would include mentions of Broadway and Barbra and the bevy of awards she intends to earn.

Santana just nods before tipping back the last of her drink. "Can we quit playing this shit? I need a refill and it's fucking boring."

Puck snorts. "Just 'cause you're losing."

She flips him off as she pushes away from the table, and Artie gets up to follow, mumbling something about his own cup being empty.

Puck leans towards her, plucking the cards from her hands and tossing them into the middle of the table. "You sing?" She just nods, looking sideways at him. "That's hot."

She laughs but doesn't say anything, because really, what is she supposed to say to that? Thank you? Instead, she looks over to the bar, where Santana and Artie are laughing about something, the girl nearly falling over when Artie hip checks her and snatches away the bottle she's pouring from. "Are they..?"

Puck glances over his shoulder and chuckles a little. "Uh, no. Santana plays on the other team." He slides one finger up the back of her hand, which feels better than she thinks it should. "Let's get out of here."

She tilts her head at him. "Are you propositioning me?"

He bites his lip and lets his gaze drop down to her chest before meeting her eyes again. "Would you go for it?" He grins when she smiles slowly and shakes her head. "Then no."

She really can't help the little laugh that comes from the back of her throat.

They say good night to Santana and Artie, and Rachel doesn't comment when Puck puts his hand on the small of her back to lead her across the back lawn to the car, partially because it seems petty to comment and partially because she likes the way it feels.

"What'd you think?" he asks, turning the car onto the main road.

He has the top off his Jeep, making the wind whip her hair around as he picks up speed. She gathers it in one hand, pulls it over her right shoulder and holds it there. "I like your friends," she answers honestly, watching him as he drives. "And you're slightly less full of yourself than I thought."

He gives her a faux-wounded look, pouting a little. "Just slightly?" He grins over at her when she giggles. "That enough to convince you to spend some time with me?"

"I can't believe you just showed up at the house," she says instead of answering his question.

He keeps his eyes on the road when he says, "I didn't have a lot to lose. Worst case scenario, you told me to get lost."

"And the best cast scenario?" She can't stop herself from asking, even though she's immediately dreading his answer.

"Ends with me knowing what you look like when you come," he answers without hesitating.

Good lord.

She doesn't say anything, just tries not to notice how warm her cheeks are and hopes that he can't see the blush on her cheeks in the darkness.

He cuts the engine when he parks in the Evans' driveway.

"Thank you. I had a lot of fun." She's being sincere instead of just polite; she is grateful that he took a chance, not a little bit because she learned more about him in this one night than she would have in weeks of post-swim lesson flirting.

"Sure." He reaches over to push a loose strand of hair off her forehead. "Give me your number."

He just has the most ridiculous way of speaking to people, but she honestly can't help laughing. He adds a '_please_,' but the way he's grinning is proof that he's only saying it because he thinks she expects him to. She doesn't say anything, just holds out her hand until he gets the hint and gives her his phone so she can program her number in.

"Thanks."

She climbs out of the car, closing the door gently behind her. "Good night, Puck."

She tries not to wonder what it would be like to kiss him while she's walking up the path, but fails miserably, especially since he's just sitting there in his car, watching her unlock the front door. She wants him to work just a tiny bit harder for it, that's all.

Her phone is buzzing on her bedside table when she finishes washing her face and brushing her teeth. She knows it's a text from Puck, so she crawls into bed before she checks her messages.

_still thinking about that best case scenario._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I neglected to mention that this story will be five chapters. Thanks for all the alerts and favorites, and a special thank you to those who left anonymous reviews as I'm unable to reply to them directly. I'm always so excited to hear what you all think!

* * *

><p>He wakes up super fucking early on Monday morning, almost an hour before his alarm is set to go off, because he's like, excited to get to work.<p>

Or to see Rachel. Kind of the same difference.

It's fucking stupid, really, because it's not like he gets to hang out with her. He'll have five minutes or whatever to talk to her between the end of the lesson and when she leaves, and that's enough to make him wake up early. Yeah, she's that hot.

He spent most of the weekend texting back and forth with her, talking about trivial shit and joking around and making innuendo that she flat-out told him she was going to ignore. He would have just gone over there and taken her out or whatever, but the weekend manager at his mom's cafe was out of town, so he had to keep an eye on his little sister while his mom worked.

But if he's learned anything over the years, going after girls for himself and being friends with Santana, it's that the little things can tell you a lot about a person.

She's a vegetarian, but she doesn't eat eggs because she had a 'traumatic experience' involving them. She's going to Julliard in the fall, and her ultimate goal is to land a starring role on Broadway. That's a whole world of shit he doesn't know anything about, frankly, but now he can name about half a dozen different shows that she loves or wants to be in. (Which is half a dozen more shows than he even knew existed before this weekend.) She's the only child of two gay dads, which he's kind of interested in, but he doesn't ask in case it's rude.

He doesn't ask if she has a boyfriend, mostly because he doesn't care. She just doesn't seem like the kind of girl who would cheat on a dude and lead another guy on like this. At least, he hopes she's not, 'cause that would piss him off.

Fuck, maybe he should ask her.

"You hit that Friday night?"

It's the first thing Santana says when he walks into the office at the pool. Puck doesn't know how she convinced her dad that the female lifeguards wearing these two-piece suits was a good idea, but he's not complaining, even if she's giving him shit when she's perched on the counter wearing it. Seriously, it's a damn shame that she doesn't want cock, because he'd give it to her good, best friend or not.

"I'm taking my time, Lopez. Let me work."

She scoffs, hopping down off the counter and walking out of the office. "Pussy," she calls behind her.

"Who's a pussy?" Matt asks, coming in and dropping his keys.

"Me, apparently. Except if I was actually a pussy, she'd have fucked me by now."

Matt just shakes his head, snagging his whistle from where it hangs on the hook on the wall and walking out of the office before Puck can say anything else. He's gotten caught in the middle of Puck and Santana's bickering matches before, so Puck can't really blame the dude for clearing out.

He spends the entire lesson trying really hard to focus on the dozen little kids in front of him instead of watching Rachel. She's wearing another little sundress, her hair in one of those messy bun things chicks always do, and her eyes hidden behind the same over-sized sunglasses she's always wearing. It's just really difficult to care about these little kids when she's just _sitting_ over there, looking all hot with her legs and shit on display.

He doesn't even bother pretending that he isn't dying to talk to her after he dismisses the kids, just hoists himself out of the pool and walks straight over to where she's helping Stacy squeeze some of the water out of her blonde hair with a towel. "Hey."

She smiles up at him. "Hi."

He leans in a little so the kids can't hear (they aren't paying attention anyhow) when he says, "Come over tonight."

"Do you ever ask people to do things?" she laughs. "Or do you just tell them?"

He shrugs. "If you don't want to, just say so." He doesn't really see any reason to ask questions when he's pretty sure he already knows the answer, and he's pretty sure she wants to hang out with him. Maybe not quite as much as he wants to hang out with (bang) her, but still. "My mom has that _Funny Girl_ movie you said I had to watch, so I figured we could watch it together."

She looks up at him for a minute, and he wishes she wasn't wearing sunglasses so he could read the expression in her eyes. "All right," she says after a moment. Stacy starts tugging on her arm, asking about lunch. "Text me directions to your house?"

He nods, then stands there and watches her ass as she walks away.

It turns out that watching a musical with Rachel is like, the cutest fucking thing ever, or maybe it's just because this is her favorite. She warned him when they sat down that this wasn't going to be just an opportunity for him to '_try something,_' because she takes any showing of _Funny Girl_ very seriously, and he can tell that she really isn't kidding. It's kind of like watching movies used to be with his sister, when Abby was about six and got completely sucked into every single thing she watched. Rachel sort of hums along with the songs, and he can actually tell she's just dying to sing along.

She's the one who starts moving closer, curling her legs up onto the couch beside her and kind of leaning into his side. She takes his hand when he puts it on her thigh (innocently, really), weaves their fingers together without looking at him at all.

She leans her head against his shoulder when the credits roll, letting out this little sigh. "I love that movie."

"I can tell." He moves his thumb back and forth over her wrist. Her hands are really small, like the rest of her, and her skin is super soft. "You sing any of those songs?"

"Yes," she answers simply, looking up at him with this little smile on her face, like she's keeping a secret or something. "Thank you for watching it with me."

He has to kiss her. He _has_ to.

He keeps it gentle, thinking to ease her in before he really goes for it. Her lips are really fucking soft, and she makes this tiny little noise in the back of her throat, squeezing his hand gently before she pulls away.

Wait. Pulls away?

"I have to get home," she whispers, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. "I'm sorry."

She squeezes his hand again before she stands up, leaning over to grab her things from the table in front of them. "One of your favorites next time?" she offers. She's standing in front of him, looking at him like she already knows what he's going to say.

He stands up, slips a hand into her hair, and leans down to brush his lips over hers. "Tomorrow?"

Her breath fans out over his cheek when she laughs, her arms coming around his waist as she leans in to hug him. "Wednesday, at the Evans'. They go to church," she explains when he pulls back and looks at her. "I'll be alone all evening."

He walks her out to her (Sam's, actually) car, resists the urge to pin her against the side of it and kiss her until neither of them can breathe.

It's a fucking shock, but he thinks he can wait.

* * *

><p>He sat through an entire movie musical with her and didn't try a single thing.<p>

It's strange, for her at least, that she feels disappointed by that.

She spends all of Wednesday morning's swimming lesson watching him, holding up a book like she's reading but not trying to fool herself any more. She resists, but all she wants to do when he follows Stacy and Stevie over after their lesson is kiss him, _really_ kiss him like she didn't on Monday night.

She lingers with him by the pool, taking advantage of an opportunity to flirt afforded by Stacy and Stevie chattering with Matt, whom she's learned is also a friend of Sam's and someone who's spent a fair amount of time at the Evans home.

"What are we watching tonight?" she asks, setting her bag on the concrete at her feet when Matt instigates a jousting match between Stacy and Stevie using foam noodles on the other side of the pool.

"_The Departed_. Have you seen it?" She shakes her head. "Are you gonna be pissed about lots of swearing and people getting shot in the head?"

"Not if it serves a purpose," she answers honestly.

Well, if she's being really honest, she isn't terribly interested in watching the movie at all. She kind of just wants to get him alone.

She tells him that later, when they're sitting on the couch in the media room and Regina has just told them that the family is leaving.

He grins, turning his body towards hers. "Yeah?" She nods, catching the front of his tee shirt in her hand when he kisses her, teasing at her lips for a moment before pulling back. "What are you gonna do now that you got what you want?"

She bites her lip, tightening her grip on his shirt and tugging until he gets the hint and kisses her again. She traces his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, moans quietly into his mouth when he opens it for her.

God, he's good at this. His hand slips around the back of her neck, his thumb teasing the skin at her hairline as their lips move together, and the whole thing makes her brain feel a little fuzzy. Deliciously so. It's been too long since she's had this, felt like this, but it's easy to sink into it.

He moves her so she's sitting across his lap, one hand on her thigh and the other resting against the skin left bare by her dress between her shoulder blades, his fingertips moving slightly, just stroking there. She hums against his lips, pushing herself just a little closer to him. She'd like to straddle him thighs and push their hips together, but she's determined to keep things slow, no matter how much she wants him.

It's kind of hard to believe how much she wants him, this boy she's known for barely a week.

They watch basically none of the movie, which is actually something of a shame. She watched a trailer online and knows that the movie won the Oscar for Best Picture, and she thinks that it's something she might actually enjoy. But this is better, Puck tugging his fingers through her hair, trailing his lips over her neck, sucking gently at her collarbone until she whimpers.

She pulls away from him when the sound of gunshots coming from the television ring through the room, presses her forehead against his as she laughs breathlessly. "We're ridiculous."

"We're hot," he insists, sinking his hand into the back of her hair so he can tip her head back and kiss along her jaw. "You smell so fucking good, Rachel."

She lets out a heavy breath before she kisses him, her tongue sliding against his. He's making her a little crazy. "They'll be home soon," she mumbles against his lips.

"Don't care." She does, so she puts her hands on his chest and leans away from him. "Fine." He pushes her (gently) out of his lap, watching with dark eyes when she presses her fingertips to her lips. "I have to go," he says abruptly. "I can't...I have to go."

She nods. "Okay."

He stands up and starts to walk away from the couch, then comes back, leans down, and kisses her hard. "I'll call you."

"Okay," she repeats. She watches him walk away, actually hears the front door close when he leaves.

She's still lying on the leather couch in the basement when the family gets home, her lips tingling and her imagination running away with her while she considers the things Puck might be able to do with his hands and his mouth if she let him.

* * *

><p>When Santana texts him on Saturday afternoon to tell him that they're all going to the piano bar that night, Puck knows it's perfect for Rachel. Matt's parents own the place, so it's not like they can use their fakes and drink or anything, but it's actually a lot of fun sober, which surprised Puck the first time they all went a couple months ago (after Santana finally turned eighteen). It's dueling pianos and a dude playing drums, and the guy who's in charge of the music will let people get up and sing if he knows they don't totally suck or they give him enough money.<p>

It's kind of become a thing.

So he calls Rachel, gives her the details about the place (leaving out just a couple of things), and tells her he'll pick her up at nine.

She's coming down the stairs when he lets himself in at the Evans' house, dressed in skinny jeans and a loose, silky looking black tank top with silver heels that are legit covered in glitter. Her eye makeup looks different than he's ever seen it, though he can't exactly figure out why, and her hair is curled at the ends.

He knew she was hot, but this is a totally different look, and he's all over it.

They stand in the doorway to the living room to tell Jeff and Regina good night (Rachel gets the same '_let us know if you won't be home_' line as last time). He ends up wrapping his fingers around her wrist as he leads her out the front door, pushing her up against the wall next to it once she's got it closed behind her. "Hi."

She giggles a little, bringing her free hand up to push her bangs out of her eyes. "Hi."

He kisses her gently, his hand sliding over the smooth fabric of her top to rest at her hip. "You know how hot you look right now?" he mumbles against her lips.

She hums a little. "No. Tell me."

He pulls back so he can smirk at her, loving the way she's looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. "So fuckin' hot, baby."

She tips her head up to kiss him again, barely more than a peck, then pushes past him and skips down the front steps. He kind of wants to ask her how girls do that shit in heels. "Coming?"

They're the last ones to get to the bar. Santana, Artie, Matt, and Tina, Matt's girl, are sitting at a couple of high tops they've pushed together, and a guy Puck recognizes as a regular is up on stage belting "Roxanne." They sit so Rachel's between him and Santana, and Rachel turns to him. "I already love this place," she admits, eyes bright.

"It gets better," he assures her.

He means it. This place would be the shit if they could drink, but it's pretty good sober, and with Matt's parents randomly showing up, it's not like they can even get away with pregaming. The reason it's fun though is because they sing.

Like, all of them.

He can tell Rachel's surprised when Artie goes up and sings "Walkin' In Memphis." Surprised and like, super-excited, because she cheers louder than anyone and basically jumps on the dude when he walks back from the stage. Santana sings "Drunk Girl," which Rachel apparently loves even without knowing the (kind of hilarious) back story.

She's toying with the straw in her ice water when she turns towards him so her knees are between his, smiling at him a little. "Is it your turn next?"

He shakes his head, looking over hers at the totally wasted guy warbling "Sweet Caroline" on stage. "You should sing. Isn't it like, what you do?"

She crosses her legs, her right hand landing on his thigh as she shifts. "Maybe some other time."

He thinks it's weird that a girl who says she wants to sing on Broadway is acting all shy about singing in a bar full of people who are mostly wasted, but whatever. It isn't really any of his business. (It occurs to him that maybe she's lying about the Juilliard thing, making shit up because it's summer and she's away from home, but he doesn't really think she's the type.)

She's totally caught up in a conversation with Matt and Santana when Puck slips away from the table, and he can legit see the surprise on her face when she looks up and he's on the stage. He sings "Champagne Supernova," and he's got people singing along and cheering and whatever. But really, any song with a drug reference is going to get a room full of drunk people cheering, so he isn't really impressed with himself.

Rachel apparently _is_ impressed. She kisses him as soon as he gets back to the table, pushes her tongue past his lips and sinks her hand into the hair at the nape of his neck to keep him close. She kisses along his jaw, then murmurs, "I love your voice," against his ear, her breath warm against his skin.

Fuck. Yes.

"You wanna get out of here?"

She's smiling just a tiny bit when she nods, which is weirdly hot, and he's hoping she wants to get naked tonight, honestly. Maybe that makes him an asshole, but whatever. She keeps doing shit that makes him want her; it's not like he can help it.

"I didn't know you could sing," she says. They're walking down the sidewalk to where his Jeep is parked a few blocks down, and it feels really quiet compared to how loud the bar was. He just shrugs. She grabs his hand, prompting him to slow his pace a little, and she's looking at the ground when she says, "It's incredibly sexy."

"Yeah?"

She nods, then stops walking. She looks nervous when he turns to ask her if something's wrong.

"I'm not going to have sex with you tonight."

Oh. Well.

"Okay."

"I mean, it's just too soon." She lets out a little breath, like she's annoyed with herself. "I just dealt with this thing and...I'm not looking for anything, Puck."

"Okay." That's fine. He really doesn't understand why they're having this conversation now, here. They haven't talked about anything like this at all. "Did some guy like, break your heart?"

She laughs a little, and it's not quite bitter, but there isn't any humor there. "Something like that." She reaches up to toy with the pendant on her necklace, a delicate little gold star. "Just...not yet."

He can be patient for a little bit, so he nods, takes a step closer and takes the hand hanging by her side, strokes his thumb over her palm. "You think we could do something else?" She smiles slowly, then nods. "Yeah?" He moves closer to her, puts his hand over the one she has toying with her necklace, the skin of her chest warm under his fingers. "Will you let me touch you?"

Her eyes flutter closed before she nods, and she laughs when he tells her that he needs her naked on his bed five minutes ago.

He's not really joking.

* * *

><p>Rachel can tell the house is empty when she wakes up on Sunday morning. It was late when she got in last night, and the sun is streaming through the window because she forgot to close the blinds before she fell asleep. She stays in bed, stretching out on her side and watching the branches of the oak tree outside the window wave, casting shadows on the ceiling.<p>

Last night was...well, to say that Puck is good with his hands would be an understatement.

The only thing keeping her from sleeping with him is the fact that she's known him for just two weeks, and Rachel Berry isn't the girl who sleeps with a boy she barely knows.

Of course, she's apparently the girl who'll let a boy she barely knows put his hand in her panties, so maybe she's exactly that girl and just hasn't given in yet.

She doesn't know that she's ever been this attracted to someone this quickly. She was with her ex-boyfriend for nearly two years, and yes, their relationship began with her complete infatuation with him, but it's not the same as this pull she feels towards Puck.

Noah. She'd asked his first name last night when he was pressing her back into his mattress, his fingers working the button of her jeans. He'd laughed against her neck - which made her moan - as he told her his given name, murmured that it would sound '_fuckin' awesome_' when she moaned it. She can't really be objective about it, but she liked the way the name felt on her lips when she fell apart around his fingers.

She knows she needs to be careful here. She has a terrible habit of idealizing and romanticizing the boys she's attracted to, ignoring their bad qualities and building these overblown fairytale-style fantasies, and she doesn't want to do that with Puck. She's had fun with him and wants to spend more time with him, but she isn't going to delude herself into thinking this is something more than it is. It's just a summer fling, not a _thing_, and she refuses to let herself forget that.

Right now, she doesn't think there's any danger of her doing anything silly like falling in love with him. He's certainly charming, and she likes spending time with him, but there isn't really anything emotional between them. Honestly, they don't really know that much about each other, which is probably for the best if she's going to engage in this physical relationship. That said, she likes his friends, likes the way he seems to be pursuing her (though she's very aware that he's in the pursuit of the physical much like she is).

She's trying to keep things from moving too fast, but he's making it difficult. Not on purpose; he isn't pressuring her or anything, but she very nearly told him to just do it last night when they were both almost-naked on his bed and she was coming down. She stopped herself, bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep the words in and wrapped her hand around him, stroking until he came, hot on her hand with her name on his lips.

She'd asked him to drive her home not only because it was late, but because she knew she would end up giving herself to him if she stayed in his bed even a minute longer.

She doesn't really want to put a time frame on it. It seems silly to go that far, but she doesn't want Puck thinking that this is something she does often. She's not easy, and she doesn't want anyone assuming that she is.

(Except maybe she _is_; she's already decided that she's going to sleep with him. It's just a matter of when.)


	3. Chapter 3

Puck doesn't know how long Rachel's going to make him wait, but he's sort of going crazy.

They've been fooling around for a couple of weeks, and it's not like they're not doing anything. Actually, they're sort of doing everything _but_ having sex, and he thinks that's why it's making him so nuts. She has this hot little body, all tight and soft and smooth, and he's figuring out that she's good with her mouth no matter what she's using it for. Then there's the fact that he's never seen a girl look better when she comes, legit. Her neck arches the tiniest bit, her lips part a little, and she digs the tips of her fingers into whatever she's got a hold on at the time (the best is when it's his hair).

Whatever. She's made it pretty clear that she doesn't want this to be a serious thing, and that's fine. It's partially fine because she's also made it pretty clear that she _will_ be fucking him at some point.

It's all good. He totally doesn't hate hanging out with her. She's kind of hilarious, and it's cool to actually get to know someone totally new. When you live in a small town, not only does everyone know your shit, you know theirs. Yeah, he's screwed around with some of the tourists (of course he has), but he's never put this kind of time into getting to know a girl he didn't basically grow up with. He started putting in the effort with her because she was hot, kept it up because she's tight with the Evanses and he loves that family. Now they're actually sort of friends. With benefits. (Though not quite enough benefits. Yet. He's holding on to that _yet_.)

They're in his room one afternoon, just hanging out and talking with some music playing. Puck's lying back against his pillows and Rachel's got her head on his stomach, her feet resting on his desk chair where they're hanging off the bed. He's playing with her hair because it's really soft and it's right there, and he can tell by the way she sort of tilts her head into his touch sometimes that she likes it.

He's got her phone in his hands, flicking through her pictures because she said she didn't care. "Who's this?" he asks, turning the screen so she can see the picture of herself with a blonde in a cheerleading uniform.

Her face is blank when she answers, "Quinn." Too blank.

"She a friend?"

He can tell it's a loaded question by the way she presses her lips together, but he doesn't know why. "She was my best friend until I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me with her." His hand stills in her hair when she turns to look up at him. "It was a bit dramatic."

He snorts out a laugh because even though it isn't funny, the look on her face kind of is. "That sucks," he says sincerely, and he means it. Cheating is complete bullshit. He knows firsthand.

"Losing my boyfriend and my best friend in one fell swoop? Finding out that they'd been lying to me for months, running around behind my back? Yes, it sucked."

Her eyes are on his face when he goes back to tugging his fingers through her hair gently, massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers. "Did you love him?"

He doesn't really know why he asks. He shouldn't care. He doesn't, not really, except now she's actually his friend instead of just being the girl he wants to fuck. He wants to know shit about her.

"I was with Finn for two years. I was head over heels in love with him, " she answers. Her fingers are toying with a loose thread in his bedspread. "Quinn knew that."

"Shitty best friend."

"You could say that," she laughs. She lets out a little sigh and looks up at the ceiling. "They deserve each other." They're quiet for a moment, until she asks, "Have you ever been cheated on?"

"Once," he answers, keeping his voice light. "I don't really do relationships," he admits. He lets his hand drift lower, trailing the tips of his fingers up and down her upper arm. "Girls cheat on their boyfriends with me."

"I bet they do," she says wryly. She sits up and takes her phone from his hand, dropping it on his bedside table before moving to straddle his thighs. His hands land on her thighs, pushing up so the tips of his fingers are just beneath the hem of her denim shorts. "I don't want to talk about them."

He's not sure if she's talking about her people or the girls who cheat on their boyfriends with him, but it doesn't really matter. "What do you want to talk about?" he asks, smirking a little when she slides her hands up his chest, her fingers curling into his tee shirt a little at his shoulders.

She shakes her head a tiny bit, leaning over to sip at his lips. "I don't want to talk."

She lets out a little squeal when he rolls her beneath him. "What d'you wanna do, baby?"

Her fingers trail over the back of his neck, dipping just beneath the collar of his tee shirt. "Just kiss me," she murmurs, closing her eyes before he's even leaning in.

* * *

><p>It rains for three days straight, and even though Rachel doesn't really hate the change in the weather, Stacy and Stevie aren't taking it well. By Friday, they're moody and argumentative and picking at one another constantly, and it's making Rachel crazy. She doesn't have siblings, so this thing they're doing where they torment one another is foreign and annoying. She loses her cool completely at lunch when Stevie deliberately knocks his glass of Kool-Ade into Stacy's plate, ruining the girl's meal and making an enormous red mess. He cries when Rachel sends him to his room, but she's so annoyed that she doesn't care.<p>

She almost wants to hug Regina when she gets home from work.

Puck tells her to come over when she texts him to share her relief. (Despite the fact that she thinks it's inappropriate and generally refrains, she's spent the last couple of days texting him even while she was with the kids since the rain kept him home from work.) He's home alone and she hasn't seen him in a couple of days, so it doesn't take any convincing.

His sister is staying with a friend and his mother is out on a date (with a man she's apparently been dating for quite some time, if the way Puck talks about him is any indication), so they're alone in the house for the evening. They wind up in his room, on his bed, watching _Gothika_ while the storm picks up outside.

It just seems like too much of a cliché when the electricity flickers off after an enormous clap of thunder, plunging the room into silent darkness.

She isn't scared - darkness never hurt anyone, and there isn't anything to be done about the storm - but it feels nice to be lying against Puck's side instead of being alone.

"Don't move," he tells her. He uses the light from his phone to move around the room, lighting candles on his dresser and bedside table, then comes back to sit beside her. "Are we gonna die?" he asks when he sees her checking the weather on her own phone.

"No, but we're under a thunderstorm warning."

"Whatever." He shrugs carelessly, then pushes at her shoulders so she's lying back against the pillows, following her down and lying half on top of her. "Wanna fool around?" He brushes his nose against hers when she laughs. "'S'not anything else to do."

He doesn't actually need to convince her, but it's hilarious that he asked at all instead of just kissing her, especially since his hand is already pushing up the side of her shirt. "We could play cards," she offers, setting her hands on his shoulders. "Or a board game."

He looks down at her incredulously. "Seriously?"

"Noah," she says quietly, smiling a little at the use of his given name, brushing her fingertips up the side of his neck, "you're very gullible."

He kisses her, then mumbles, "You're mean," when he pulls away to tug her shirt over her head.

Yes, she's terribly mean when she's letting him take her clothes off.

There's a part of her brain - admittedly, a very small part - that's aware that this is absurd. The storm outside is absolutely raging: booming thunder, near-constant flashes of lightning, rain beating against the windows.

But then Puck is sweeping his lips over the swell of her breast, sliding down her body to unbutton her jeans and tug them off her legs, and all she's thinking about is how he's making her feel.

In a word, breathless.

He _touches_ her more than Finn ever did. It's like he isn't in a hurry, and not only because he thinks she's going to stop him before things get too far like she has before. He takes his time and pays attention to places no one else ever has: the expanse of skin above her breasts, the line of her spine, the backs of her knees. It's either the fact that it works her into something of a frenzy or just because he likes the way her skin feels, but whatever the reason, it makes her crazy.

He sips at her lips while he plays the pads of his fingers over her ribs, swallows her mewl when he dips one finger beneath the waistband of her panties, runs it back and forth between her hipbones. He lets out a low chuckle when she unhooks her own bra, dropping it off the side of the bed and arching into his touch when he circles his thumb around her nipple. She breathes his name when he leans down to suck the hardened bud between his lips. "Please."

He moves over her body more, swipes his tongue over her other nipple before kissing up the valley of her breasts, over her chest, across her collarbone. "Please what, baby?" Her head rolls to the side when she feels his lips against her ear. They're her weakness, something he discovered about her early on in this thing they're doing and exploits often. The tip of his tongue traces the shell of her ear, just barely touching. "Tell me."

They've played this game, or a version of this game, before. Maybe it's because they don't know each other well, or maybe they're just silly, but they never just ido/i something. There's always a question first, this teasing way of making sure they aren't going too far, too fast.

She moans breathlessly when he nibbles a bit at her earlobe. "Puck...god, Noah, take me." He pulls back to look at her, and she can see the question in his eyes in the candlelight. She thinks it's almost funny that she's saying yes to this in the candlelight. "Take me," she repeats, her fingertips digging into his shoulder as she tries to draw him closer. "Fuck me."

He lets out a groan before he kisses her hotly, his tongue curling around hers in a way she'd think was frantic if his hand wasn't moving so steadily down her stomach, slipping into her panties until he's grazing her clit with his fingertip. "You're sure?" he mumbles against her lips.

"Yes." He circles his finger with more pressure, drawing the moisture around. "_Yes_."

Her breath catches in her throat the first time he sinks into her, and she think she might love him a little for stilling his hips, giving her a chance to adjust. It's been awhile, and he isn't exactly small. "Fuck, Rachel," he mumbles, his lips pressed to her forehead. "Fuck, you feel good."

She whimpers when she shifts her hips a little. "So do you," she gasps, rolling her hips in earnest. "God, Puck, _move_."

He takes his time, waits until she's begging to slip a hand between them and push her over the edge. She comes with his given name on her lips, and he lets go just after, his face pressed against her neck, tongue darting out to taste her sweaty skin.

She lets out a little whine when he pulls out, moving away from her to take care of the condom. "My god," she breathes, almost laughing. He lays next to her, sliding his palm over her stomach while they both try to catch their breath.

Puck is only the second person she's been with. She and Finn were each other's firsts, so anything they knew about sex, they learned together. (If she ignores the time at the end when he was also sleeping with Quinn. She chooses to ignore it now.) One time with Puck is making her wonder if she should've been sleeping around the whole time.

See? Sex with Puck has made her stupid and illogical.

"You good?" he asks, reaching up to push her bangs off her sweaty forehead.

She actually laughs, nodding her head and letting him tug her into his side. "Very good," she answers, making him chuckle.

They're talking about nothing when the electricity comes back on. She's just wearing his tee shirt and her panties, he's in his boxers, and they're lying facing each other with their legs tangled together. Neither of them says anything about it, but Puck is grinning when he reaches behind him to turn off the lamp on the bedside table (the only light they'd had on while they were watching the movie), and Rachel flicks off the TV to get rid of the glowing blue screen.

She sends a text message to Regina to let the woman know she intends to spend the night at Puck's, using the storm as her excuse. As soon as she's set her phone down, Puck is pressing her back into the mattress, kissing her neck until her giggles turn to moans and she's telling him to touch her.

* * *

><p>Puck's never been the guy who has girls sleeping over in his bed, partially because he avoids bringing his hookups home. It's a lot easier to bail when you're the one who leaves. (Kicking a girl out of your house? That shit kind of sucks; he did it once and he never wants to have to do it again.) And he likes his bed and having all the space in that bed open for himself, knowing that there isn't anybody there to see if he's snoring or drooling or talking in his sleep or what the fuck ever.<p>

Waking up next to Rachel the morning after they finally fuck? He doesn't hate it.

(It's at least a little bit because she was totally willing when he woke her up at like, two-thirty and asked her to go again.)

She's on the left side of his bed, all curled up on her side facing him, one arm tucked under the pillow. Her hair's a fucking disaster, but it's hot, and the fact that she's wearing the Stones tee shirt he had on yesterday is hotter.

So, yeah, he wakes her up with his hand skimming up her naked back under his shirt, pressing his cock against her hip. And when she totally goes for it, he decides that having a chick in his bed is pretty awesome.

The Chamber of Commerce holds a Fourth of July party every year at the country club for its members and their families, a big barbecue and a fireworks display and a bunch of stuff for little kids. This year, Puck's just glad they decided not to open the pool, because it means that he gets to hang out instead of doing the lifeguard thing. It's the same every year. He goes with his mom and his sister, eats a ton of food, watches fireworks, and then walks across the golf course with Santana and whoever else to her house where they all get wasted. They crash at her place because it's huge and her dad apparently doesn't give a shit, and they take the entire next day to recover.

Puck's mom doesn't know how to be on time to anything, so they leave the house about half an hour after she insisted that he and Abby be ready to go. Santana still manages to find him as soon as he steps onto the grounds at the club. She's all smiles with his mom (she always is, and if his mom knew some of the shit he'd gotten into with Santana, she wouldn't love the girl so much), then she's dragging him across the lawn to where Rachel's standing with Matt and Artie in this weirdly hot white and navy striped shirt that shows off her collarbones.

Santana's got one of the bartenders giving her cups of rum, which they're surreptitiously adding to the fruit punch they're drinking, and by the time the fireworks start, they're all half-drunk. Puck's sitting on the ground, leaned back on his hands, and Rachel's sitting in his lap because '_the grass makes my legs itchy._' She's got her head leaned back against his shoulder, and he can hear the little sounds she's making as she watches the fireworks go off over their heads, like those bursts of light are more than just exploding chemicals in the sky.

He kisses the side of her neck because it's kind of fucking adorable, okay? Especially since he's buzzed.

There are about a dozen of them walking across the golf course to Santana's after the show is over, Puck and Rachel lagging behind everyone else because they got caught up talking to Jeff and Regina. Well, Rachel talked; Puck just stood there and kept his mouth shut so they wouldn't be able to tell that he'd been drinking. Rachel's the best sober-acting tipsy chick he's ever seen. He's impressed, legit, and she laughs when he tells her that.

"It's not that hard," she tells him, shrugging her shoulders. She skips forward a few steps, then turns to face him, walking backwards. He's pretty impressed with her ability to do that, too, actually. "It's a good skill to have."

"I bet."

She pauses her steps until he catches up, then takes his hand, weaving their fingers together. He doesn't say anything, mostly because they're walking so close together that the back of his hand is brushing her thigh, left bare by the tiny red shorts she's wearing. "I want more rum," she says thoughtfully, cracking him up. "Really. It makes me feel all...affectionate."

She squeezes his hand a little and looks up at him, and he thinks the girl deserves to have all the rum she wants if it makes her eye him like _that_.

* * *

><p>It's easy to fall into a pattern with Puck. Most of the time she spends away from the Evanses is spent with him, partially because, yes, she doesn't know many people here in town, but mostly because she has fun when she's with him. She'd mentioned to him her desire to know the town like a local, and he's been showing her things. She knows now that the best coffee in town is at his mother's cafe, but the best cold coffee drinks are at a place on the south side of the lake called Fenwick's. She knows how to bypass marina traffic when she's going from the Evans' to the Puckermans', cutting across on an unmarked road that's little more than an alleyway. He showed her a tiny, hidden park just a few blocks from the elementary school, a place that's gorgeous even if it is little more than a gazebo and a little koi pond with some flowerbeds. She's gone with him to 'the point,' a local hangout that she wasn't particularly fond of given the amount of drinking and driving that obviously originates there<p>

Usually though, they're just hanging out, not really _doing_ anything. They spend more time at his house than the Evans' because his house is usually empty, his mother at work and his sister next door because the neighbors have a little girl her age. It's a way for Rachel to get some quiet (the Evans house is constantly buzzing in a way that hers never has), and a way for them to get physical with one another.

The day after Rachel stayed with Puck the first time, Regina came into her room, sat on the edge of her bed, and initiated a conversation about responsibility and birth control. On one level it was mortifying, but at the same time, it was refreshing to be talked to as an adult (especially since Regina has known Rachel her entire life and could easily treat her like a child). As long as she lets Regina know when she isn't going to be home for the night and the way she cares for Stacy and Stevie doesn't change, the woman trusts her to make good decisions. It really boils down to being treated like an woman instead of a little girl, and Rachel appreciates that more than she can say.

They're driving around on a Saturday night, sipping fresh-squeezed lemonade from a tiny little stand next to the movie theater and chatting about the movie they just saw when Puck turns down a road Rachel's never seen before, heading towards the lake.

"Where are we going?" she asks curiously. The movie they saw wasn't really Puck's style, so he spent the last half of it touching her as inappropriately as she would let him get away with; she'd expected that he'd take her back to his house to take her clothes off like he's told her he wants to do. She starting to recognize the little grin on his lips now as one he gets when he's plotting something.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, turning off the road and putting the jeep in park when the tires hit sand. "Skinny dipping," he finally answers, cutting the ignition and tugging his shirt up over his head.

She blinks at him for a moment. Skinny dipping is a reckless, ridiculous activity that really serves no purpose, as far as she can tell, beyond titillation and the thrill of doing something 'wrong.'

And heaven help her, it sounds like a lot of fun.

She can tell Puck is surprised when she tugs her tank top up over her head without a word, but he doesn't say anything either, just watches her unbutton her shorts while he pushes his own jeans to the floorboard beneath him. He says her name quietly when she unhooks her bra, her last article of clothing, and drops it on top of her folded pile of clothing in the floorboard. She leans over, as if to kiss him, pulling away at the last second, scrambling out of the car, and dashing down the beach until she hits the cool water, diving beneath the surface as soon as it's deep enough.

She isn't the strongest swimmer, and he obviously is, so she's not exactly surprised when he breaks the surface just after she does. She kicks her legs, moving out just a bit further as he watches her, standing in chest-high water. She ducks under, tipping her head back as she resurfaces to slick her bangs back out of her face. It's strange, the way it feels different to be naked in the water. It isn't that different than swimming in a bathing suit, in actuality, but it is at the same time. It's somehow liberating and sensual, however ridiculous that sounds.

With the exception of having the occasional alcoholic beverage, Rachel Berry is a girl who follows the rules. It's silly, but this feels vaguely naughty, and exciting because of it.

She swims back over to where Puck is standing, puts her hands on his shoulders and lets the tips of her toes just skim the sand. "Hi."

He just shakes his head, his hands finding her hips beneath the water and pulling her closer so he can kiss her. She presses herself against him, the insides of her elbows resting at the juncture of his neck and shoulders, kissing him hotly until she can feel him beginning to harden against her stomach. "Why did you bring me out here?" she asks, leaning back a bit to look at him.

His thumbs are rubbing little circles on her hipbones. "Couldn't pass up a chance to see you naked and wet, baby."

She smirks, quirking an eyebrow, asking him without words if he's going to capitalize on the obvious joke. He just grins, sliding his hands down her body until he's got her wrapping her legs around his hips while he kisses her neck.

She knows better than to have sex in the lake, but that doesn't mean that they can't enjoy themselves. She skates her lips up his jaw, murmurs dirty things against his ear as she brings her hand between them to wrap around his length and stroke slowly, steadily. He bites down on her collarbone, gently, when he comes, sucking the skin hard after, hard enough that she knows she'll have a mark. She doesn't care though, not when he insists on returning the favor and his fingers are hot against her, rubbing just right and making her back arch.

* * *

><p>Puck actually catches himself thinking of things he can show Rachel. She's really serious about this 'being like a local' shit, and Puck spends hours every day just sitting in a chair, making sure kids don't drown and letting his mind wander. He decides, one afternoon, that he's going to borrow Artie's boat and take her out to his favorite fishing spot. He'll get to see her in a bikini (which doesn't happen nearly often enough as far as he's concerned) and get her alone out on the water. It's kind of genius, really.<p>

Until he goes to the Evans' and she reminds him, gently, that she's a vegetarian and therefore has a '_moral objection_' to fishing.

Shit.

They go out on the boat anyhow, end up lying in the sun and making out instead of actually _doing_ anything, and he admits (when she asks) that not fishing is better than fishing any day.

* * *

><p>Jeff and Regina go to spend a day helping his parents finish some landscaping at their house in the next town over, leaving Stacy and Stevie with Rachel. Since they're in the habit of spending their Saturdays together, Puck comes over the house to "help" Rachel babysit.<p>

Honestly, it's like having a third little kid running around.

He shows up with a pair of super soakers and a bag of water balloons and insists that the four of them are going to have a water war in the backyard, and idea that Stacy and Stevie immediately fall in love with. Rachel slathers the kids in sunscreen (throws the bottle at Puck with a pointed look), pulls her hair into a ponytail, and stands at the kitchen sink for half an hour filling balloons with water.

Yes, she's excited, and she isn't embarrassed to admit it. She's an only child: She's never had a water fight like the one Puck has obviously planned for them.

Stacy claims Puck as her partner (Rachel thinks the girl's crush is adorable.), so Rachel teams with Stevie, and they start on opposite sides of the yard, setting up buckets of balloons and refill stations for the water guns. It's not the sort of game that has a winner; the goal is getting wet, basically, running around the yard and being silly.

Rachel isn't at all surprised when Stevie turns on her, joining his sister and Puck in chasing her around the yard and pelting her with water balloons. She's laughing when she cries uncle, holding her hands up in surrender in a way that gives Puck the perfect opportunity to throw a balloon at her chest. It soaks her face (again) when it bursts, sending the kids into fits of giggles and making Puck smirk at her.

"That's fine," she says, nodding slowly and plucking a bit of blue rubber from her chest. "You will all pay for this later." She locks eyes with Puck. "Especially you."

He quirks his eyebrow at her quickly, then scoops Stacy up and starts charging around the yard with the little girl hoisted above his head. The three of them are singing "We Are the Champions" (loudly and off-key), and all Rachel can do is laugh and shake her head.

Puck helps her prepare lunch (if stealing carrot sticks as she cuts them counts as helping) while the kids scour the yard for pieces of balloon to throw away.

"You're really good with them," she comments, stepping to the side to flip the grilled cheese sandwiches that are cooking on the stove top.

He shrugs, ignoring her glare when he steals another carrot. "They're cute kids most of the time, and I don't have to deal with them when they suck."

It's ridiculous, but she has to laugh, picking up her knife and pulling another carrot from the bag on the counter. "I think Stacy has a crush on you."

He smirks, taking the knife from her hand and setting it on the counter before putting his hands on her hips and gripping gently. "Stacy, huh?" She nods, swallowing when his hands run up and down her sides once. It's just this side of inappropriate. "What about you, Rach? You got a crush on me?"

She's actually relieved when the back door flies open. Puck moves away from her, leaning back against the counter again while Stacy starts chattering about her 'balloon confetti,' brandishing a handful of colorful little balloon bits that Rachel ends up giving her a little sandwich baggie for, even though she should make the girl throw them away.

Puck's words hit a little too close to home, and it's a bit of a problem. He was just teasing. They've talked about this, how it's a perfect summer thing: easy and light with no expectations and no potential for hurt feelings and '_all that girly bullshit_.' But the more time she spends with him, the more she gets to know him, the more she falls for him.

She's playing a dangerous, dangerous game, and she knows it.

Hell, she knew it from the beginning. She knows herself and she knew she was going to fall for him, but now she's in deep enough that she's not going to step away. Their relationship, such as it is, has an expiration date, and there's no sense in worrying about being in over her head. She'll be leaving in a matter of weeks, heading to New York and leaving this behind, so she might as well enjoy what they have while she has it.

* * *

><p>He doesn't really think anything of it when he gets Rachel's text that she's coming over, just keeps doing what he's doing: Sitting on his bed and fucking around on his guitar.<p>

He doesn't really anticipate Rachel's reaction.

She kind of freezes in the doorway, which is an opportunity for him to appreciate the way her little denim shorts show off her legs, all tanned and smooth.

"You play guitar?" she asks after a moment, her voice all quiet.

He raises his eyebrows at her because...well, yeah. Obviously, since he's playing right now.

She smiles and rolls her eyes a little, at herself, he knows. "What I mean is, I didn't know you play guitar."

He grins at her and changes it up, starts playing something slow and sweet. "Hey, Rach?" He waits until she's looking at him expectantly. "I play guitar."

She laughs and tosses her phone in his direction. It bounces harmlessly on the mattress next to him. "You're a smart ass."

"'S'not news, baby."

He watches her push his door closed and step towards the bed, her eyes on his hands as he plays. "Don't stop," she says quietly. The way she's eying him, the only way he'd stop is if she started getting naked. Well, the way she's eying him, he thinks it's just a matter of time before she starts getting naked, but the guitar is obviously working her up. Fuck, if he'd known she was going to react like this, he would have pulled out the guitar back when she was holding out on him. The look in her eyes is the fucking sexiest thing he's ever seen on her.

She gets onto the bed, maneuvers herself so she's straddling his thigh with one knee between his legs. "You think it's sexy, don't you?" he asks, teasing a little, because, yeah, she obviously does.

She narrows her eyes at him a little, slides herself just a bit closer to him. Her knee is almost grazing his junk, but it's hot. He trusts her, even if she's got him in a precarious position. She nods slowly. "You know it's sexy, Puck."

He keeps playing when she kisses him, which he can tell she's into, but then her tongue is sliding against his and he has to put the guitar to the side. Partially because she's short-circuiting his brain, but mostly because he wants to press her into his mattress and do things that make her moan.

So he does.


	4. Chapter 4

Rachel's at the house alone on Sunday afternoon when Finn shows up at the Evans' door.

There's some gathering at church, and Rachel declined their invitation to join them in favor of spending a quiet afternoon by herself. She's just sitting on the couch in the family room in a pair of black cotton shorts and a gray tee shirt with her hair in a ponytail, flipping idly through an issue of _In Style_ and watching an old _One Tree Hill_ rerun on cable. She's surprised when the doorbell rings, mostly because it's unusual for anyone to visit the house at this time of day. Unless, of course, it's Puck, but he doesn't ring the bell: He just comes in.

She can't imagine who's at the door, but Finn Hudson is near the bottom of the list of people she would have expected.

"How did you find this house?" she asks when she sees him there. It's not the only question she has, and certainly not the most important. It's just the first one that comes out. She mostly wants to know _why_ he's here, why he thinks she wants to see her, and when she sees his car behind Sam's in the driveway, how early he had to get up to drive here.

He doesn't answer her question, maybe because he knows her well enough to know that she doesn't care (too much) about _how_ he got here. "Quinn and I are over and...Rachel, I just really miss you." He licks his lips when she just blinks at him. "Can I come in? So we can talk?"

It seems mean to close the door in his face, so she lets him in. She's still angry, on some level, even if she's mostly over it. He betrayed her, lied to her, used her. He knew about her insecurities regarding Quinn; it's not always easy having a best friend who is classically, unfairly beautiful, who is popular and endears herself to people so easily, no matter how much you love her. She and Finn were together for long enough that she'd told him these things, shared a part of herself that she was ashamed of.

And then he went and reinforced all of those insecurities by cheating on her with Quinn.

Being out of Lima made it easier to let go of those things, along with cutting the stressors (Finn and Quinn, and it suddenly annoys her that their names rhyme) out of her life, refusing to take calls from either of them, deleting emails and text messages without reading them, informing her fathers that she didn't want to hear either name regardless of extenuating circumstances. Then, of course, there was Puck's obvious attraction to her, the fact that he never hesitated to tell her she was attractive, took every opportunity to demonstrate that attraction. She feels sexier with him, probably mostly because he's better at sex than Finn, and she's better with him.

But now Finn is sitting in front of her on the cool leather couch in the Evans' family room, telling her how much he misses her, how he screwed up, how different Quinn was than he thought and the whole thing wasn't worth it.

She can't explain _how_ she ends up naked, beneath him in her bed, but later, when she thinks about it, she knows why.

Rachel thinks romantic gestures are meaningful. Finn showing up here, so far from home...it's the most romantic thing he's ever done for her. (Which, later, she finds sad instead of...whatever she thought initially.) She loves words, and he's saying all the right things, telling her she's beautiful and he loves her and he's missed her, that he was wrong to think he could be with someone else.

After - immediately after, when he's combing his fingers through her hair with one hand and plucking at her nipple with the other in a way that has always, always irritated her a little - she realizes that she's made a mistake. Because she's lying here with Finn, the boy she's been in love with for what feels like forever, listening to him breathe, and all she can think about is Noah.

She gets out of bed slowly, tugs her tee shirt over her head without bothering with her bra. "You need to go," she tells Finn, speaking quietly as she finishes getting dressed.

"What?" She can see his reflection in the mirror when she picks up her hairbrush. His brow is furrowed. "Why?"

She tugs the brush slowly through her hair, untangling the worst of the snarls before setting it back on the dresser and turning to face him. "This was a mistake," she says quietly, "because I'm not in love with you any more."

The words surprise her when they come out of her mouth, but they're true. She knows they're true.

"What?"

"You need to go," she repeats simply.

She leaves him alone in her room (She doesn't trust him with her heart anymore, but she has no reason not to trust him with her things.) and goes downstairs, perching on the bench in the front hall across from the stairs and pulling her hair back into its ponytail. Finn eyes her, confused, as he comes down. "I don't understand."

She nods. "I know." She's always made a point of explaining things to Finn, not because he's stupid, but mostly because he's naive and doesn't see the things that are right in front of him, can't always follow the logic. She won't this time though, partially because he doesn't deserve the explanation and partially because she doesn't know that he'll understand anyway.

Neither of them says anything else, and Rachel gets up from the bench to lock the door behind him once he's gone.

She isn't sure what she's feeling. It's nothing good.

* * *

><p>He's kind of surprised when Rachel calls and asks to come over. He'd spent a good hour on Saturday trying to convince her that spending an entire afternoon in her bed with him was a good idea, but she's been really set on having the time to herself. Something about being an only child and having a '<em>desperate need to decompress.<em>'

She looks weird when she walks into his room, but he can't really put his finger on why. She's the sort of girl who's kind of an open book, but he hasn't known her long enough to know all her expressions and shit. Like, he can tell when she's thinking dirty shit and when she's irritated, but he's never seen her really upset or really pissed off or whatever.

He's reading an article on a baseball blog, but he puts his computer aside when she spins his desk chair around and perches on the edge of it. "What's up, baby?"

"Finn just showed up at the house," she says quietly, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. "Apparently he and Quinn are over because he still loves me."

Puck gives her a weird look because this is a weird conversation, or it's at least weird that she's decided to have it with him. She hasn't brought up either Finn or Quinn since the first time she told him the story - and that wasn't even the whole story, he knows - with the exception of super vague references to "her ex" when it came up in conversation. (Like when she informed him that she most certainly did understand the rules of football because "her ex" played, and besides that, she isn't a simpleton.) "That's..." He trails off helplessly. "I don't know what you want me to say."

She shakes her head. "Nothing." She takes a deep breath and blows it out. "I had sex with him," she blurts. "I had sex with him and then I told him to leave because it was a mistake and I don't love him any more."

Wait, what?

She's just looking at him with those huge brown eyes, and he's trying to figure out why he's pissed off. Because yeah, he's pissed. (It's basically the only emotion he has that's immediately identifiable, at least according to Santana.) Maybe it's because she asked him like, two weeks ago if he was having sex with anyone else, and when he told her that he wasn't, she asked if he could keep it that way. 'I_'m not with anyone else, and I'd feel more comfortable if you weren't either_,' she'd said, and he'd agreed because even if he wanted someone else, he and Rachel have enough sex that he wouldn't even really have time to go after someone else. Apparently something changed though, if she's having sex with _Finn_.

"That sucks," he says flatly. "You said you weren't fucking around."

"I'm not," she says quickly. "I wasn't. It was a mistake, and it won't happen again."

Puck hates hypocrites. Hates. And right now, sitting in his desk chair and looking at him with stupidly sad, earnest eyes, Rachel just looks like a huge ass hypocrite.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly.

"You should go." The last thing he wants is to listen to her apologies. It'll just piss him off more.

She looks at him with wide eyes. "Puck, I-"

"Don't," he interrupts. "I don't need this shit."

"If you'd just let me explain-"

"I don't want to hear it. Fuck, I don't even want to see you," he tells her harshly. "Just stay the fuck away from me, Rachel."

She stands, nodding her head, and she doesn't say anything else before she walks out of the room, which surprises the fuck out of him, honestly. He hears the front door open and close, and then he's alone in the house again.

He's kind of fucking confused. He doesn't know why she came and told him, for one thing. She could have kept the whole thing to herself, and he never would have known. Legit, there's no way he would have found out if she hadn't said anything, and that really bugs him. What's more confusing though is the fact that he's so pissed off. Their thing is casual, even if the aren't fucking around with other people, so it shouldn't matter what she does, at least not this much. Like, yeah, he should be annoyed that she did something she said she wouldn't do, but it's not like she cheated on him.

But that's kind of exactly what this feels like. He's had exactly one girlfriend, and that relationship ended when she cheated on him. That shit sucked, and it's why he doesn't do the relationship thing any more. And he wasn't in love with Brittany or whatever, but that shit stings. And no, he isn't in love with Rachel, but something about this just hits him wrong. He never told her about Brittany, but the being cheated on thing was something they had in common.

Maybe that's why he's so pissed.

* * *

><p>She feels terrible, not only because sleeping with Finn again was a mistake in itself, but because Puck was so obviously upset by it. He was angry, which she's never really seen. She hates it.<p>

She takes the things people say quite seriously, even when they're angry, and she assumes that he really meant it when he told her that he didn't want to see her, told her to stay away. But she still sees him three days a week when she takes Stacy and Stevie for their swimming lesson. It's reminiscent of the first week or so that she was in town in that she can't stop herself from watching him from behind her sunglasses, but that's really the only similarity. There aren't any little looks, no flirting. He doesn't so much as glance in her direction after he's said goodbye to Stacy and Stevie, and Rachel just gets the kids dried off and walks them back to the car.

She dreads those lessons.

And truthfully, she hadn't realized just how much time she was spending with Puck until she wasn't seeing him at all. All of her free time is spent in her bedroom, and the sudden change in routine caught Regina's attention (of course). Rachel was forced to explain that she and Puck had had something of a falling out, though she kept the details vague. Regina and Jeff don't even know that Finn came to town, let alone what happened, and they don't need to.

She wanted a quiet, relaxing summer alone. Apparently now she's going to get it.

center*/center

He never loved teaching swimming lessons. There were those couple of weeks when that was the only time he saw Rachel, so he looked forward to them, but the actual teaching-kids-to-swim thing? Not awesome. Not the worst thing in the world, but definitely not his favorite. Now he dreads them for the same reason that he used to look forward to them: Seeing Rachel sitting off to the side, legs stretched out on a lounge chair, crossed at the ankle, and sunglasses hiding her eyes.

She hasn't called him or made any effort to talk to him, which isn't exactly what he expected when he told her to stay away. He figured she'd be like every other girl in ever, texting and calling and apologizing and trying to convince him to accept her apology and talk to her again and whatever, but she hasn't done any of that. He'd even been prepared to have Stacy and Stevie asking questions, like maybe she would have coached them to give him messages or whatever, but neither of them have said a word.

Having a woman in his life who actually listens to what he says and respects it or whatever is new. He thinks that's why it all feels so weird.

He stops at Fenwick's Tuesday morning before he goes to the pool because he's desperate for caffeine and it's too hot to drink real coffee. He and Artie were up late, caught up in a sort of epic round of Halo, and there's no way he can sit on that lifeguard stand all day without wanting to drown some kid if he doesn't get some caffeine in his bloodstream. It's late enough in the morning that he's missed the rush, so he's standing alone at the end of the counter, waiting for his drink, when the bells hanging over the door tinkle against the glass as it opens.

And Rachel walks in.

He rolls his eyes and looks away, but not before he notices the the way the little white sundress she's wearing looks against her skin, her hair swept back from her face. It's really not fair that she's so hot and he isn't getting to see her naked any more.

She gives her order quietly and only moves away from the cash register when someone else comes in the door behind her. Puck doesn't know what the fuck is taking so long, but he doesn't really want to be standing here with her three feet away.

"Hi," she says quietly. He ignores the hell out of her. "Don't you think it's silly for us to pretend like we don't know one another?" she asks after a moment. There's just a hint of exasperation in her voice. He likes it.

He turns to face her. "Hi, Rachel," he said pointedly, condescendingly.

"Puck, please," she breathes, shaking her head a little.

"You know what's been bugging me?" he says, basically ignoring the tone of her voice, the one that's kind of begging him not to be a jerk. "Why did you bother telling me at all?" She blinks up at him owlishly and he smirks. "I never would have found out. Either one of us could have been screwing around the whole time, and the other never would've known." He knows what he's implying, and yeah, it's on purpose, even if he's lying.

She's got her lips pressed together in a thin line when the girl behind the counter says his name. He thanks her when he takes his drink, and he walks out of the place without saying another word to Rachel. She's just standing there staring at him, her shoulders pulled back and her hands at her sides, and he doesn't feel bad about it at all.

Santana gives him shit about his foul mood all day, ignoring him when he tells her that he's really fucking sick of women right about now. She doesn't let up, and by the time they close the pool, he's told her what happened and decided that the only way to save his day is to drink whiskey until he isn't angry any more. Santana's usually the one who gets the booze (boobs make that shit easier, legit), but he's pissed at her for making him talk about it, so he gets Matt to pay off one of the waitresses at his parents' place for a bottle of JD. They go to Artie's and spend the night blowing up virtual shit and getting belligerently drunk.

It doesn't help as much as it should.

* * *

><p>She feels stupid for ever trusting him.<p>

He all but told her that he'd been sleeping around since they met when she ran into him at Fenwick's on Tuesday morning, and it's all she can think about. The idea of him being with someone else when he said he was only with her makes her a little sick, honestly, pulls the knot in her stomach a little tighter. At the same time, it doesn't quite add up to her. To have had time to bed other women, there couldn't have been any seduction or effort involved, and it can't have happened frequently simply because so much of his time was spent with her. Between that, work, and sleep, it's hard to imagine that he was able to be with someone else.

It occurs to her that he could be saying things just to hurt her. She doesn't know him well enough, admittedly, to know whether or not that's the sort of thing he's inclined to do, but it feels like it might be.

It doesn't matter. None of it does. She's going to be here for another month, and then she'll go to New York and never see him again. Until then, she'll just do her best to stay out of his way. She certainly won't try to engage him in conversation again after what happened on Tuesday; she learned her lesson.

She's sitting on the back deck at the Evans', reading a book and watching Stacy and Stevie run around in the sprinkler when her phone rings. It's an unknown number, but she recognizes the local area code, so she answers it in case it's Jeff or Regina.

"You're coming to a party at my house tonight," the girl on the other end of the line says.

"Pardon me?" Rachel shakes her head at herself. "Who is this?"

"Santana Lopez. You remember how to get to my house, right?"

"I'm sorry, how did you get my number?" Yes, she's hung up on the details. She likes Santana well enough, but she's never spoken to the girl without Puck around, and she knows those two are close. She doesn't understand why Santana would be calling her.

Rachel can hear the exasperation in Santana's voice when she says, "From Puck's phone, which is why I'm inviting you. If he was done with you, he'd have deleted your number, Rachel."

"I'm not sure exactly what you're trying to do, Santana, but he told me that he didn't want to see me, and I'm going to respect that the best I can."

"Oh, fuck that noise," Santana snaps. "That kid is fucking unbearable if he isn't getting his dick wet on the regular, and since you guys had your little fight or whatever, he's been a complete bastard, and I'm sick of it. So I'm doing something about it."

Rachel laughs a little. "Well, I suppose there's something to be said for wanting your friend to be satisfied sexually, but-"

"Shut up," Santana interrupts flatly. "I got him to tell me what happened, and yeah, you screwed up. It hurt his feelings or whatever, not that he'll ever admit it."

"Santana-"

"I like you," Santana plows on, ignoring Rachel, "and I love him like a brother. And I can tell that you actually like him."

She hasn't been able to get a word in edgewise, but as soon as Santana says that, all the things she wanted to say fly out of Rachel's head. She didn't realize that she was being quite so obvious with her feelings, particularly since she's been trying to ignore those feelings since she first realized that she had them. She pushes them down, ignores them, hasn't even really acknowledged them herself too much. She figured it was just a part of being her, and not necessarily something someone else would notice.

"You have to make him listen to you, and you have to apologize. And then you should get naked to seal the deal."

Rachel laughs in spite of herself, just at the bluntness. Talking to Santana isn't unlike talking to Puck, actually. "Even if he was willing to hear me out, I'm sure he's already moved on."

"Did you not hear the part where I said he's been a dick for almost two weeks? Rachel, there isn't anyone else. There hasn't been since he went after you."

She's quiet for a moment, thinking about Santana's words, wondering if Santana has some sort of ulterior motive, if she's the kind of girl who would humiliate someone else just for fun. And actually, yes, she seems like exactly that sort of girl. But really, what does Rachel have to lose? Even if this is just an elaborate plot to make her look stupid somehow, she'll never see these people again after this summer; she can handle embarrassment. And if Santana's being sincere, she really has everything to gain, doesn't she? Puck's friendship, their physical relationship: She could have it back.

"What exactly did you have in mind?"


	5. Chapter 5

He doesn't know why Santana's so insistent about him being at this fucking party, but she's promised him a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red, so he'll show up. He intends to drink himself stupid and crash in the guest room they call his. He doesn't have anything to do on Saturday, so the hangover won't be an issue.

He's been in a really shitty mood, and he doesn't really want to admit it to anyone, but it's totally because of Rachel. First of all, he's pissed off at her, even if he kind of gets why she did what she did with Finn. (He still doesn't know why the fuck she told him though. The phrase _honest to a fault_ comes to mind.) Second, now that he's not spending time with her, he's realizing how much they were actually hanging out. Like, daily, and they were texting and shit when they weren't actually together. He hasn't spent this much time with a girl other than Santana since he dated Brittany, and fuck if he doesn't miss her and shit.

And the whole not getting laid thing. That almost trumps the rest of it, if he's being honest.

Artie is the first person he sees when he walks into the basement at Santana's, standing behind the wet bar, dancing around and brandishing a bottle of SoCo.

Rachel is the second person he sees.

"Oh, fuck this," he mutters, turning to go back up the stairs and running straight into Santana.

She grabs his biceps, sinks her fingernails into his skin as she blocks the stairs. "Talk to her," she orders.

"Fuck you," he bites out. Then, realizing, "Did you invite her here?"

Her eyebrows shoot up at his tone, and he doesn't even care that he's obviously pissed her off. "Yeah, I did, because one, this is my house and I'll invite whoever the fuck I want whether you like it or not, and two, because you need to get the fuck over yourself and talk to her."

"No." He tries to push past her again, and she digs her fingernails into his skin harder, till it hurts.

"Puck-"

"_No_. Fuck. Santana-"

"Talk to her," she repeats lowly, loosening her grip on his arms. "Puck, you guys aren't dating. You can forgive her for fucking up with the guy she dated for however fucking long."

He rolls his eyes, then tilts his head at her. "You're supposed to be on my side, San."

"I am." She smirks, rubbing her hands up and down on the back of his biceps, soothing the sting left by her fingernails. "You make up with her, you get laid, you have fun for the rest of summer seeing how crazy you can get her to be." Santana thinks like a guy, which is a big part of the reason they're friends, and Puck has to chuckle. "Go upstairs and talk to her."

He lets out a sigh. "Fine."

He and Rachel go up to his room, and neither of them says anything until the door is closed behind them.

"I miss you." Her voice is quiet, and her eyes are on the floor when he turns to look at her.

"You miss fucking me."

"No!" she protests quickly. "Well...yes," she corrects after a moment, blushing when she meets his eyes. "But that's not what I meant."

He grins. "I know." She's cute when her cheeks get all pink like that.

"I'm sorry, you know. I'm sorry I slept with Finn at all, but I'm really sorry about what happened after. Between us," she adds quickly, clarifying. She's got the hem of her gray plaid dress in one hand, twisting it around her finger and letting it go over and over.

"I was pissed," he says. Really though, a lot of that anger has dissipated since he talked to Santana on the stairs. Having someone else remind him that they weren't dating made a difference, and Santana's the only one brave enough to even try to defend what Rachel did to him. "I think I'm almost over it though," he admits.

She blinks at him for a moment, licks her lips. "Do you think you can forgive me?"

"I think it was probably fuckin' stupid that I was pissed off in the first place."

She laughs a little bit breathlessly, and he's fucking done talking, because he's done being mad at her for something that was actually pretty fucking stupid.

She whimpers into his mouth when he kisses her, and maybe it's because he's gripping her hip a little too hard. Even so, he doesn't stop, because her fingers are clutching at the thin strip of hair at the nape of his neck, her tongue moving against his and tasting of strawberries and rum.

It's kind of stupid how much he's missed kissing this girl.

He's gonna chalk it up to the fact that she's really fucking good at it and he hasn't had anyone - at all - since the last time he had her. She's the best he's ever had, legit. Anybody'd miss that.

He buries his hand in her hair, tips her head back so he can kiss down her throat while he's tugging at the strap of her dress. "God, Puck." She moans when he moves his lips up to suck at her pulse, then laughs a little. "I did miss this."

He's chuckling when he nips at her collarbone, pushing the other strap of her dress down so the fabric falls from her body, pooling at her feet and leaving her in just a pair of light pink lace panties. "Fuck, baby."

She arches into his touch when he bends his head to pull one of her nipples between his lips, flicking his tongue over the hardened peak until she keens his name, then switching to the other as he walks her backwards to the bed, pushing her back on it when the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the mattress. He pulls his tee shirt over his head, and as much as he'd like to draw this out and tease her and shit, it's not gonna happen.

He just watches her while he pulls the condom from his wallet, tossing it on the bed beside her, and pushes his jeans down off his hips. He's barely touched her, but her breathing is already kind of fucked up, her eyes dark and hot as she watches him. "You look incredible," she murmurs, pressing her hips up against nothing.

So does she, but he doesn't bother saying the words. Instead, he tugs her panties down off her legs, hooks an arm around her waist, and moves her so she's lying back against the pillows before bringing his hand down between her thighs. "Shit, baby," he murmurs against her cheek when he feels how wet she is. "I've barely touched you."

She presses her hips up against his hand, lets out a breath when his fingers graze her clit. "Do it more," she begs.

He does what she asks, moves his fingers over her, inside her, quick and hard until she's clutching at his wrist as she comes apart, these tiny little whines falling from her lips. She's still riding it out when he slips into her, fluttering around him a little. It's so fucking good, and they come together, so hard that she practically screams his name and he sees red behind his eyelids.

"Was that make-up sex?" she asks after she's caught her breath.

He looks over at her, her hair a huge mess fanned out over the pillows, and she look so serious that he can't help laughing. "Yeah, baby."

She turns onto her side, tucking her hands beneath her cheek and smiling at him. "I liked it."

He leers at her. "Again?"

She giggles, nodding her head, and moves so she's straddling his hips, her hair falling in a curtain around them when she leans over to kiss him.

* * *

><p>She gets Puck to tell her what Santana's favorite cookies are, then enlists Stacy and Stevie's help to make the girl a batch as a thank you for pushing Puck to make up with her. Puck just shakes his head when they deliver them to the next swimming lesson. When he comes over after he dismisses the kids (and she loves watching him walk towards her like that again), he leans down to murmur in her ear, telling her how much he'd like to pin her back against the fence and push his hand up the front of the denim skirt she's wearing.<p>

She's still blushing when she gets into the car and reminds Stacy and Stevie to buckle their seatbelts.

It's easy to fall back into the same pattern she and Puck were in before, where they spend the majority of their free time together (and a good portion of that naked). They're dating, really, without the labels, and Rachel finds that she's okay with that, even if she most definitely has feelings for him that she isn't sure are reciprocated.

It isn't the first time in her life that she's wanted someone more than they wanted her, and she's sure it won't be the last. This time, however, she's made peace with it; it's easier to do that when she knows she's leaving, knows they genuinely don't have a future. And if nothing else, she won't be sexually frustrated when she gets to New York.

He buys a hammock that he hangs between two trees in his backyard and becomes almost ridiculously attached to. When his efforts to entice her into hammock sex fail (because there's no way in hell she's having sex outside in his backyard), he convinces her to spend an afternoon lounging in it with him. They sit facing one another, and he dozes while she reads an article about Marlon Brando in _Vanity Fair_. She gets caught up, ends up reading about some European millionaire socialite, and when she looks up at Puck, he's asleep, one hand resting on the top of her foot and the other on his stomach. She moves slowly, carefully, so she doesn't end up flipping the hammock and dumping them both on the ground, until she's beside him, lifting his arm so she can rest her head against his chest.

"Hey, baby," he mumbles, hand coming up to rest on her hip.

"Go back to sleep," she whispers.

"'S'awesome."

"What is?"

"Hammock. Told ya."

She doesn't say anything, but she thinks he's right.

After she's had the most peaceful nap she can ever remember, swaying slightly in the breeze curled up with him, she admits that the hammock is, in fact, awesome. Hanging out in the hammock becomes a bit of a thing, and Puck suggests napping there any time they're at a loss for something to do.

She doesn't hate those naps.

* * *

><p>"I want to do something silly," Rachel announces, walking into his room on a Saturday afternoon.<p>

He smirks, and apparently she knows his expressions, because she rolls her eyes before he even says, "Sixty-nine looks kind of silly."

"Not exactly what I had in mind, but I have an idea." She bites her lip. (Hot.) "I've always thought having a tarot card reading could be fun, and there's a woman who does it downtown."

He crooks his finger at her in a come hither motion, grabbing her hand and tugging her onto the bed with him when she gets close enough. She lays beside him, lets him kiss her. "You know that's all bullshit, right, Rach?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe. It's an art that's been practiced for hundreds of years. I just think it's interesting." She pokes her finger into his side gently. "What's the point of being a tourist in a tourist town if I don't take advantage of the silly things at least a little bit?"

"Baby, you're the one who wanted to be like a local," he reminds her.

"I changed my mind. Now I want the best of both worlds."

She's so serious he has to laugh. It makes her all indignant, which is a hot look on her, so he kisses her again. "All right. Let's go."

The tarot place is sort of exactly what he expects and nothing like what he thought all at the same time. Like, there are tinkly bells hanging on the door and crystals in the windowsill and a little round table covered with a purple cloth in the middle of the room. But there isn't any weird music, and the place smells like cinnamon and vanilla instead of incense or whatever. This place has been here his whole life, but he's never been in here, hasn't ever been interested in it. Right now, it's kind of screwing with the picture he had in his head of what a place like this looks like.

The woman who does the reading is his mom's age and is dressed in a long, sort of floaty dress with her super long hair in a braid over her shoulder. (That's exactly what he expects.) She starts by asking Rachel a couple of questions - her age, what she's interested in learning about through the cards, who the handsome boy escorting her is - then has her shuffle the cards, thinking about her questions. Then the woman takes the cards and lays them out in a cross pattern, turning them one by one and saying a little about each one.

It all sounds pretty general to Puck, and not at all impressive. She brings up Rachel's love life, which is pretty basic when you're talking to an eighteen-year-old girl. She talks about fame and performing, which doesn't seem like much of a stretch given that Rachel mentioned moving to New York. It all sounds like the kind of shit you could say to anyone, but Rachel seems pretty into it.

They go down the street to the gelato shop after they leave, and Rachel buys his double-chocolate cone as a thank you.

"I know it's silly," she says, swirling her spoon through the dish of strawberry sorbet in front of her, "but it was still fun." She takes a bite, watching him thoughtfully. "Thank you for bringing me."

"Sure, baby." He licks his gelato suggestively, smirking when she shakes her head. "Can we try my silly thing now?"

Her mouth drops open for a second, then she dissolves in giggles, setting her spoon down on the table until she can get herself under control again. "You're just full of lines, aren't you?" He just quirks his brow, watching as she takes another bite and considers him. "Yeah," she says after a minute, "we can try your silly thing."

Fucking right.

* * *

><p>Rachel is starting to itch to perform.<p>

It's been weeks since she's sung for an audience. Graduation, actually, was the last time, and even though she knows the rest of her life will be spent performing (God willing), she hasn't gone this long without singing in public since...well, she can't remember ever going this long without at least giving an impromptu performance for her neighbors.

But she isn't that girl, not this summer. She isn't Rachel Berry, talented future Broadway star. She's just Rachel, exactly what she wanted to be.

She reminds herself of this when she and Puck meet Santana, Artie, and Tina at the piano bar. Matt's there too, filling in for the drummer on stage. They've been here a few times, and it's always the same. There are the clichés, like the fact that people will always request "Freebird" and the piano players will always do "Piano Man" and wear Elton John-style glasses and feather boas at some point. There are a handful of regulars who are "allowed" to sing, including the man who regularly butchers "Sweet Caroline" while extremely (hilariously) drunk. Artie, Santana, and Puck sing every time, and Tina fills in for the piano players when they take their breaks. (She sings too, and as far as Rachel can tell, she and Matt have the same sort of relationship that Rachel and Puck are enjoying. It's kind of nice to see someone else in the same boat.)

Each time they come, Puck tells Rachel that she should sing. And each time, she declines politely.

She and Santana cheer louder than anyone when Puck and Artie sing "Brown-Eyed Girl," dedicated, by Artie, to "the two fine ladies on our arms tonight." It's silly and sweet, and their voices go together so beautifully that it almost negates the cliché of it all. Almost.

She's still laughing when Puck gets back to the table, kissing her soundly and letting his fingers slip just beneath the waistband of her jeans at the back. "That wasn't heavy-handed at all," she teases.

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair and stealing a sip from her water glass. "I know it makes you wet when I sing, baby."

She glances around furtively to see if anyone overheard him and is relieved to see that everyone near them is distracted. "You're vulgar and disgusting," she tells him matter of factly.

"Yeah, I am," he agrees easily, smirking. He leans forward, pushing her hair behind her ear so he can put his lips against it and whisper, "Tell me I'm wrong."

She narrows her eyes at him when she pushes him away, but doesn't say anything.

He isn't wrong.

She stands without warning later, walking away from their table and towards the stage without a word, even when Noah starts calling after her. She perches on the bench next to the piano player she's deemed her favorite over the last several weeks, whispers in his ear as he plays for the girl who is attempting to sing "Love Song." She stays there beside him, winking at Matt when he catches her eye from behind the drum kit.

She sings "Hey Jude" because she can't resist playing to a crowd, and nothing is more perfect than The Beatles in a piano bar. It's a little like leading a drunken sing along, and it's definitely the most fun she's had (clothed) in a while. She leaves the stage to a chorus of cheers with a huge smile on her face, and Santana pulls her into a hug when she gets back to the table.

"Who knew you'd sound like that?" the Latina says, and Rachel thinks that's a compliment in Santana-speak, so she thanks the girl as she takes her seat.

Puck takes her hand and presses his lips to her wrist after she's talked to Artie and Tina. It seems like a sweet, innocent gesture, but his tongue darts out to taste her skin quickly, and he knows - he's the only person who knows, since he discovered it - that her wrists are super-sensitive. All he has to do is brush his thumb over the skin there just right to make her breath catch, a bit of knowledge that he likes to exploit on a fairly regular basis.

She expects him to compliment her voice since he's spent basically all summer trying to convince her to sing, so it surprises her when he tells her that his mom and sister are both out for the night and asks if she'll keep him company.

Later, when they're in his room and she's unbuckling his belt while he tugs at the zipper at the side of her dress, he murmurs, "Your voice makes me crazy, baby," against her throat, nipping the skin there when she whimpers.

* * *

><p>Jeff and Regina decide to spend a weekend with Regina's parents a couple of hours away, taking the kids with them and leaving Rachel alone in the house for three days. She gets all coy when Puck brings up all the stuff they could be doing in a house alone all weekend, tells him that it wouldn't be right to take advantage of the hospitality the Evans' have shown her by '<em>plotting a weekend of debauchery<em>.'

Apparently her problem is with the actual _planning_ of the dirty things, because the Evanses leave around four o'clock Friday afternoon and Rachel's calling him by dinner, talking about being in a big, unfamiliar house all by herself and how watching episodes of _Criminal Minds_ with him may have ruined to ability to stay home alone ever again.

He sees right through that shit, but whatever. If that's how she want to play it, he can roll.

They don't really take advantage of being alone in the house the way they could. Rachel insists that it's one thing to have sex in their house when they aren't home (it's not like they aren't aware of her relationship with Puck, she points out), but it's another thing to entirely to let him take her on the kitchen counter (his first suggestion) or on the leather couch in the family room (his most recent suggestion). He kind of stops listening when she starts going on about hospitality and etiquette and a '_sense of propriety that you, Noah Puckerman, are obviously lacking._'

They end up in her room, which is boring, but still awesome, 'cause he's in his boxers and she's just wearing the gray tee shirt he had on when he got there. He's laying with his head on her chest while she massages his scalp with her fingernails, scraping them gently over the shorn parts and then feathering the tips of her fingers through the longer strands of his 'hawk. It's totally quiet in here, and she's putting him to sleep in the best way ever.

"Why did you spend your last summer at home with me?"

The question comes out of nowhere. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and asks, "Is this like a trick question, baby?" 'Cause really, she's only going to be around for a couple more weeks, and he doesn't want her pissed off at him, and this sounds like a trick question.

She chuckles quietly, her chest vibrating a little under his cheek. "No, I'm just curious. I'd have thought you'd want to spend this time with your friends."

"You mean we aren't friends?" he teases.

"Noah." Shit, he loves the way she says his name. Probably mostly because he's usually inside her when she does.

"At first it was because you're hot," he says honestly, grinning when he feels her laughing again. "But then you turned out to be cool as hell and shit, and I like hanging out with you."

"Oh."

She doesn't say anything else, which is a little weird. She talks nonstop, for one thing, and that's probably the closest he's ever come to telling a girl he actually likes them. (Telling Santana, '_I fucking love you, you bitch_,' doesn't count.) But she's still moving her fingers over his head, and it puts him to sleep before he can think about her reaction too much.

* * *

><p>It's kind of a shame, when she thinks about it, that she met Noah here. He's the sort of boy she could fall in love with if she let herself. He's crude and vulgar and rough around the edges, but he has this hidden sweetness, this way of letting the people around him know that he cares that she finds incredibly endearing.<p>

But he's going to a school two hours from here, and she's going to New York, and she always meant it when she said she wouldn't look back. That hasn't changed. She's proud of herself, really, because she hasn't let herself fall in love with him.

She just knows that if she let herself, she would in a heartbeat.

* * *

><p>Santana throws her traditional end-of-summer party, and it's just a given that Puck's going to bring Rachel with him. She's only in town for a few more days, and since she's been relieved of her baby-sitting duties, she's been spending basically all of her time with him.<p>

She's wearing the little denim shorts he loves when he picks her up, with a loose black tank top that's cut low in the front and the back over her emerald green bikini. (He starts thinking about tugging loose the knot at the back of her neck as soon as she's in his Jeep.) He can just hear her singing along with the radio while he drives, and he catches himself thinking, not for the first time, that this girl is totally going to make it wherever she wants with a voice like that.

He really digs Rachel when she drinks, because she's kind of fucking adorable. She gets sort of a quiet and affectionate, but she's not clingy or whatever, she just likes being close. Since she's smokin' hot and lets him do dirty shit to her on the regular, he can hold her hand and let her put her head on his shoulder when she's drunk. (Or sober. Whatever.)

Sometime after one in the morning, when they're both just this side of wasted, they end up out on the golf course, wandering around sort of aimlessly. She's holding his hand, their fingers woven together, partially because he kept trying to untie the back of her bathing suit (he's wanted to do it all night, legit) and partially, he knows, because she just likes holding his hand.

"'Don't Rain On My Parade' was one of my audition songs for Juilliard," she tells him randomly. She's biting her lip when he looks down at her. "You asked me once if I sang the songs from _Funny Girl_," she explains with a little shrug.

He remembers the conversation, but he's not totally sure why she's telling him this now. Truthfully, she's drunk enough that she probably doesn't know either, but it doesn't really matter. She starts singing under her breath so he can just barely hear her, just a few lines, then she stops walking and tugs on his hand so he'll do the same. "What, baby?"

"Thank you. For this summer," she adds, seeing the look on his face. That explanation doesn't really help him much though. Is she thanking him for all the crazy sex? "I thought I just needed to get out of Lima, to be alone, but-" She cuts herself off, shrugs her shoulders and takes a step closer to him. The back of her hand is brushing his stomach just above the waistband of his shorts, which is a little bit distracting. "I think I needed someone who wanted me," she finally says in this little voice.

"Baby," he says quietly, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I totally still want you. Like, naked ten minutes ago."

She laughs, leaning against him so he can feel her breath through the front of his tee shirt. "I am not having sex with you on a golf course, Puck."

"Then you better hurry your ass up and get back to the house," he suggests, earning another laugh and a little slap to the chest. "Not really joking, Rach."

She pulls back to look up at him thoughtfully, her head tilted to one side. She stands on her toes to kiss him gently (tease), then pulls back and puts both hands flat on his chest to push him away hard enough that he stumbles. "Race you," she cries, turning and dashing away.

She doesn't make it fifty feet before he catches her drunk, giggling ass. He scoops her up and tosses her over his shoulder, slaps her ass just for fun when she squeals his name, the sound ringing across the course.

She's fucking fun, and yeah, he's going to miss her when she's gone.

He tells her that later, but his lips are against her neck when he says it, and he's just a hair's breadth away from being inside her, so she probably doesn't think too much about it when he mumbles, "Fuck, I'm gonna miss this, Rachel."

He totally means it, and not just the sex.

* * *

><p>She spends her last day in town with Puck, which surprises exactly no one. Regina just nods and gives her a knowing look when Rachel shares her plans, a look she doesn't really understand. Everyone - she and Puck included - know how this story ends. She goes to New York and he goes to school, and their summer fling becomes a fond memory of their youths. They'll never see each other again, and she's made peace with that.<p>

Even if she thinks it might be nice to be able to spend time with him in the future.

(She has this completely unrealistic little fantasy scenario in the back of her mind, one that involves lying on a blanket in Central Park, singing on a stage in a little dive bar while he plays guitar for her, meeting him outside the stage door at the Gershwin after a show. It's just silliness.)

They end up lying together in the hammock in his backyard, facing one another while he plays quiet little songs on his guitar.

"Have you ever been to New York?" she asks randomly, taking her gaze off the leaves fluttering over her head to look at him.

"Nope." His eyes are on hers, but he keeps playing. It's a song she doesn't recognize.

"I think you'd like it."

"Yeah?" She nods. "Lot of people there," he says quietly.

She nods again, watching the way his hands move as he plays. Honestly, before Puck, she'd never truly understood the attraction to musicians. Now that she knows what other things those hands can do...well, suffice it to say she has a whole new appreciation for them. "Do you think you'll ever visit the city?" she asks. She's very careful not to imply that he'd be visiting her, but she knows it's there anyway.

He tilts his head when he looks at her, like he's considering her question. He's quiet for so long that she regrets asking, and she has to bite her tongue to keep herself from taking it back. "Maybe I will," he finally says, his voice low.

She tries not to smile too widely at his answer, because maybe is better than no and she sort of loves the idea of being able to show him New York the way that he showed her his home. Even more, she likes the idea of getting to know him somewhere else, somewhere that they're on a more even footing.

Still, she knows better than to get her hopes up, because maybe isn't yes, and they aren't in a relationship. They don't owe one another anything, and if she's being honest, she sort of likes that part of it, too.

She shakes her head a little at herself, puts herself back in this moment instead of considering the endless what ifs and maybes. "Can you show me how to play something?" she asks him, biting her lip a little as she watches his face.

He smiles at her - one of those real smiles that she's learned are few and far between - and nods. "C'mere."

She kisses his cheek when she moves to sit beside him, pays close attention to the way his fingers feel against hers when he places them on the frets and shows her what to do.


End file.
